Glissando
by Dance Elle Dance
Summary: His fingers trailed over the black and ivory keys, eliciting a tinkling noise. His voice was sad and broken when he spoke, "My wife taught me how to play." Jisbon, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own The Mentalist._

_**Summary: His fingers trailed over the black and ivory keys, eliciting a tinkling noise. His voice was sad and broken when he spoke, "My wife taught me how to play." Jisbon, oneshot**_

_I've had this little idea in my head for the longest time, and I just decided to commit it to the Word Processor lol. This is my second venture into Mentalist fanfiction. I was really happy with what responses I got for my first fanfic, and I hope that this one gets as good reviews as that first one! Please enjoy!_

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**Glissando**

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Just another murder investigation.

That was what Lisbon told herself as she walked up the steps of the elegant mansion home. It was a strange thing to think about murder - that it was _just another one_. Strange indeed. She supposed that just showed how much she'd been on the job and how much she'd grown to be desensitized to it.

Whether that was a good or bad thing was anyone's guess.

The house belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle. They owned a prominent wine company, releasing some of the premium brands of wine that got the best scores year round. Lisbon could practically smell the scent of grapes as the wind tousled her hair around her shoulders and face.

The husband and wife had been found murdered late last night in this otherwise beautiful home. The man had been shot once in the head - made to look like suicide - while the woman was worse for wear. She had been tied up and gagged, sexually assaulted, and then stabbed to death with a rather large butcher knife gotten from their own kitchen.

Lisbon sighed as she opened the door, wearing latex gloves, of course, and entered the scene. Jane was right behind her, chattering in a carefree manner with some random agent. Another strange thing was the fact that Jane could make her feel less anxious about going into a gruesome crime scene.

"Ah, there is nothing like the smell of a vineyard, is there, Lisbon?"

Lisbon didn't reply, knowing that this was just a rhetorical statement to get the usual chatter going. Her shoes clinked on the pristine tile, which was strangely clean, compared to what she heard about the rest of the house.

"Guess you don't agree." Jane chirped, and she could practically see the smile in his voice, "Oh, well, I always pictured you as a beer kind of gal."

"Damn straight." She drawled, following the crime scene workers that were showing them up the stairs to where the murders occurred.

Jane gave a light laugh, but the sound rang in her ears strangely, as if he didn't mean it.

She didn't have time to wonder what that was about, for the crime scene investigator on the scene was explaining what they found. Another cop was standing near her - someone's name she thought was Bernie, but she wasn't sure.

"As we've learned so far, the man did not commit suicide. The angle was all wrong, so we are looking at a double homicide."

Lisbon nodded and looked over to Jane, who was staring at the blood stained room. Most of the evidence had been removed from the place, but there were signs of a definite struggle in the bedroom.

Jane moved the blinds from the glass of the window and looked down at the grounds. There was a rather strange looking gardener staring up at the window with wide eyes. Scratching the curls of his strawberry blonde hair, he looked at the cop that Lisbon couldn't remember the name of and gave a wry smile, "Question him. I'm sure he saw something, the way he's lurking around like an injured shark."

Lisbon quirked a brow, but didn't say anything. If she knew anything about Jane, it was that his hunches were almost always correct. So she sighed and walked back down the stairs. She knew Jane was behind her, but she couldn't hear his footsteps. That's how he was, after all. Quiet and whatnot. She was sure he was a ninja in a past life or something.

They made their way into the living room, which was as clean as the rest of the house - save the bedroom, of course - and she looked over at Jane, whose eyes were lingering on a huge grand piano, sitting next to a large window. The morning sun gleamed in and caused the paint job to shine.

Before she could say anything, the tall blonde made his way over to the musical instrument and sat down on the stool.

"Hey, he could be contaminating evidence." The random cop said, pointing at Jane.

"Oh, shh," Jane called, holding up a slender hand, "the person who came into the house was here to murder those people, not to play _Chopin_."

The cop flushed and looked at Lisbon, who shrugged, "He's most likely right. Like he is about everything."

Jane turned to the side and gave her a smile, but there was something strange about it. Something about the way he twisted his lips that alerted a red flag to the dark haired woman. Something was bothering Jane, and therefore, it bothered her.

Sighing, she turned to the cop and told him to go question the gardener, and that she'd be there in a moment.

She knew she was going to regret this the moment she sent everyone else out of the room.

"Jane…" Her voice was quiet and subdued, but she still tried to put some force behind it to get his attention.

He didn't acknowledge her use of his name, only ran his hands back and forth several times over the keys. He pressed his fingers down a few times, and the musical sound resonated throughout the quiet place.

Lisbon didn't know what to say, so she only watched him, enraptured, as he seemed to be having a reunion with the instrument. She didn't even know he played - showed how much she really knew about Jane that was outside of work and Red John.

His fingers trailed over the black and white keys, eliciting a tinkling noise.

She was about to say something else, when he interrupted her.

Jane's voice was sad and broken when he spoke, a sound that she hadn't heard from him in such a long time.

"My wife taught me how to play."

The words were almost so quiet that Lisbon had to strain to hear them, but even so, they tugged at her heart.

She didn't say anything. Because, after all, what _was _there to say? Lisbon didn't think there were any words to address that statement, so she just stood there, looking useless and feeling so, with her hands wringing themselves in front of her.

His strong shoulders were facing her, so she focused on the way his blonde hair slightly curled over the nape of his jacket. Then she watched as he stretched his fingers out along the keys, not pressing down, just putting them there. She supposed if she could see his face, she'd see the epitome of sweet sadness.

"I wasn't too good at first." His crooning voice wrapped lovingly around that sentence, as if he were remembering it for the first time in ages. "But she stayed with me. Occasionally scolding me, of course. Because, who doesn't?" He turned around and gave her a smile, tinged with the wry, joking nature that was Jane, and there was something else. Something so vulnerable and sad that she had to fight to keep her mask in place, "I am a handful, after all."

Lisbon almost lost herself in the vivid imagery he had just provided her. His gorgeous wife, sitting next to him, patiently telling him what to play and teaching him how to read music. She could see him sitting there on the stool, picture his daughter leaping up and sitting on his lap, asking, _"Daddy, will you play me something?"_

Suddenly, her chest twisted in a most unpleasant manner, almost as if she were having a heart attack. Her hand rose to her breastbone and clenched the fabric that covered it, as if that would quell the sudden, piercing pain that had enveloped her.

The silence grew and grew, almost to the point where it got louder, straining her ears, torturing her on that very spot.

Lisbon moved her hand to run through her hair, and then Jane's fingers started playing a light, melodic tune on the piano in front of them.

It was pretty. Something that Lisbon had never recognized before. She wasn't that big on classical, but that was what it sounded like. Something from that era - a lilting, tuneful melody that caressed her ears. She shouldn't have been surprised that Jane was so accomplished in this area, for Jane was always good at most everything.

The playing went on and on, until it built to a crescendo and then gradually decreased in sound. The lingering notes filtered through the air, and Lisbon found herself closing her eyes at the pleasurable sound.

Jane stopped playing the melody, and though he didn't move from the stool. He just sat there. Lisbon felt like she should move, do something, say something - _anything_ - to help with the warring emotions he must be feeling right about now.

She just wasn't sure what.

Her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, wondering what she should do next, before she stepped forward, closing the distance she had purposely left there while Jane had a sorrowful trip down memory lane. She was next to him, standing so close it was as if an electric current was between them.

Slowly, deliberately, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

He moved his head to look at her, and his eyes were tortured. She had always noticed his eyes. The fact that he was so much more jaded than he appeared on the outside, with his quips and snark. His eyes were always deeper than anything she'd ever seen. Those eyes had seen so much torment that sometimes it hurt her to look into them - especially when he was talking about Red John. And finding him. And killing him.

She didn't say anything. That simple gesture of her hand resting on his shoulder seemed to say everything.

He reached up, his lips twisting as he put his own, warm hand on top of hers.

They seemed to communicate so much with so little.

His fingers tightened around hers and he rose, finally leaving the piano and whatever stigma was attached to it.

"Then, let's go question the gardener." Jane said, his hand staying on hers for a bit too long. The moment was too intimate, too strange to have it brushed off like that, but Lisbon chalked it up to Jane being Jane. And Jane was a strange guy when she thought about it. "He will most likely lead us to the killer."

_And it's back to normal Jane. _She thought, smiling slightly.

He moved his way to the door, having seemingly collected himself after his recent lapse into the past.

"Coming, Lisbon?" He said, giving her his most charming smile - the one that caused butterflies to beat the hell out of her stomach.

"Of course." Lisbon replied, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world.

She couldn't help but feeling closer to Jane as they went and got the information from the gardener. (He _did _know several pieces of valuable knowledge about an affair and whatnot. The usual.) Her hand seemed warmer where it had made contact with Jane's shoulder.

Lisbon also couldn't help but feel proud that Jane had opened up to her about something so sensitive. She hoped that he didn't think it was a mistake. That would be the exact opposite of what she viewed it as.

When she looked at him, however, his face was somewhat lighter than usual - if that was possible - and she knew that it wasn't a mistake on his part.

Far from it.

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_**End.**_

_And there it is! My second attempt at a Jisbon. I hope that everyone enjoyed this, and I would love to hear everyone's opinions on this fic. It took me a while to figure out how this would end, so I hope that it's good! This is in honor of the season finale tonight, oh, AND the fact that my favorite contestant Lee DeWyze, got into the final two of American Idol! I know that sounds really cheesy, but this guy is just simply amazing. (insert big smile here) This is also my 50th__ fic, which I am extremely proud of. _

_Thanks for reading!_


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